The Slowest of Saturdays

Today was the slowest of all Saturdays. It was slow in the kind of way when you wake up beside your sleeping lover in the slow-changing light of morning; slow like the wrapping of our arms and the gentle fluttering of our eyelids. Slow like small kisses that take time. We lay there, seeping in a grey afternoon. The wind pushed its way noisily behind the house–we could hear it. He and I remained bare-skinned after making love. Time spent like that feels like being at the center of gravity. Playing with fingers, with toes, noticing freckles and softer patches of skin. We swallow all time and slowly wind each other up. I couldn’t remember the last time I enjoyed the sweet slowness of a Saturday afternoon in bed with a lover. In fact, it probably was the first time.